Save Me From Sin
by Maia's Pen
Summary: WIP! When an ancient evil threatens to possess Ashe she discovers help from the last man she expected: Balthier. Soon Ashe’s darkest desires will be unleashed upon Ivalice leaving only Balthier to stop her . . . or surrender to her. Balthier x Ashe.
1. Chapter 1

Save Me from Sin

By Maia's Pen

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story contains spoilers, if you have _not_ beaten Final Fantasy XII you may want to hold off. Also, this story involves a romance between the characters Balthier and Ashe. If this is not a pairing you enjoy, you may not want to read.

Disclaimer: As much as I wish Balthier was mine, he is not. Neither is anyone or anything else dealing with Final Fantasy XII.

Chapter 1

Sweat glistened on his brow, and his arms stiffened from cramps . . . it was difficult to support ones entire bodyweight via hands only. This was not a particularly relaxing situation. However, Balthier Bunansa was never one to give up due to some challenging discomfort. Inhaling carefully, he clutched the royal canopy as though it were weaved with golden thread. As a spasm threatened his forearm, Balthier reminded himself not to relinquish his grip; after all, he was dangling thirty yards up! As lovely as the Rabanastre rooftops and city lights _were, _he much preferred to enjoy them once his feet had located the palace flooring. Now exhaling, he heaved himself up and into an open palace window. _There now, much better, _Balthier applauded himself, gently dabbing his forehead clear of perspiration. Since he was most certainly _not_ afraid of heights, Balthier _now_ allowed himself to admire the Rabanastre city lights below. The view from _The Strahl_ was superior, but he had to admit that the city was lovely from up here.

While he was, in fact, entering the palace both uninvited and illegally, Balthier did not consider himself to be breaking an entry. Not this time. Rather, he thought of this as a sneaky social call. Breaking in was far too easy -- he had done that before, two years ago on the night of Vayne Solidor's celebration. The night he and Fran met Vaan. The night that changed his entire life.

Balthier sighed, taking a moment to consider how utterly black the sky was this night. Dangling as he just was, he had probably stood out like a sparkling diamond necklace against a black frock. Of course, he had not been noticed by the guards thanks to Fran. Currently she was doing a brilliant job distracting those guards stationed below him. Approximately twenty minuets ago Fran had approached the guards playing the role of a citizen wishing to leave flowers for the ailing Dalmascan queen (as dozens of others were also lined up to do). Once she pretended to faint from grief the guards were at her side trying to assist the fallen beauty. It was times such as these that Balthier truly appreciated his exotic partner. He had originally estimated that it would take him eighteen minuets to scale the east wall and climb inside. Grinning smugly at his pocket watch, Balthier noted that it had only taken him fifteen.

Turning his attention from the window, Balthier had to squint in effort to see his surroundings. It was horribly dark inside the palace! He was quite sure that the inside of a coffin would be more welcoming. As his sight began to adjust to the darkness he noticed several lanterns hanging on the walls, but he was not about to light them. He had made it this far without any guards at his heels, and he rather preferred his mission continue that way. His plan was simple, as he liked best: sneak in, see the queen, and then sneak out. He aimed to accomplish these three things without getting into any skirmishes. He was not worried about himself, but those sword fights always ended in somebody's clothing being torn. The other day he had purchased a fine new vest and he would hate to place it in jeopardy.

Plucking a small hand-light from his pocket, Balthier spotlighted a palace map. He had purchased this map from a Moogle the morning before. It had certainly cost him a hefty sum of gil, so he trusted that it would be accurate. A thoughtful frown graced his lips as he studied the map. _Ah, yes!_ He now smiled. Things looked good. According to the map the queen's bedchamber was at the end of this very hall. Balthier was slightly surprised that there were no guards stationed here . . . but who was he to dare question Lady Luck? If she desired to favor him on this day, then so be it!With his small light to guide him, Balthier began walking slowly down the hall. He was careful to keep his light aimed down, below the windows. As he advanced he could not help but admire some of the palace's finery. The crimson carpeting alone was luxurious, and Balthier imagined that _The Strahl_'_s _entryway would look splendid with such a rug. What truly gripped his attention were the many jewel encrusted vases and decorative weaponry aligning the walls. For a moment he felt those sticky pirate fingers itch . . . however, he reckoned that stealing from the palace was basically stealing from the queen herself. Even the naughtiest of pirates had morals, and stealing from good friends was taboo.

As he rounded the next corner Balthier was feeling so confident in his sneakery that he dared to hum a merry tune. This proved not the best decision, as his jingle attracted the attention of a domesticated Giza wolf. The canine was a pet of the queen's and must have been napping someplace nearby. In any event, the beast now seemed quite agitated that Balthier had disturbed him. . . or that he had snuck into the palace -- Balthier was not sure which. As the wolf snarled and assumed an attack position, Balthier merely tisked and calmly drew a small Cockatrice bone from his satchel. He had been warned about the presence of this pet wolf from the map selling Moogle. Like any professional pirate, he had come prepared.

"Hello, Herbert," Balthier whispered, addressing the beast by -- what he had been informed was -- his name. "Care for a nice bone, good fellow?"

Fortunately Herbert had a change of heart; he approached Balthier and politely sat down, even offering his paw in exchange for the treat. Balthier pat Herbert atop the head and handed him the bone. Herbert scampered off happily, totally forgetting about the fact that Balthier was an intruder. Balthier decided that from this day forth he would always carry a little goodie on his person incase he should find himself in a repeat situation.

"Ah ha!" Balthier exclaimed quietly, glancing upward. "Here she is."

The door before him was incredibly grand—taking up the width of the halls end. It was solid gold and dripping with precious gems. The glittering jewels formed a mosaic in the likeness of a crown. Balthier had not seen craftsmanship of its equal. To top off the splendor, a decorative flag hung above the doorframe with the words _Her Majesty_ woven in silver thread. Balthier tucked his map neatly into his pocket; he did not require a map to confirm that _this_ wasthe queen's bedchamber.

Balthier hesitated, shifting his weight from side to side. He was unsure how to best make his entry. After all, he had not seen the queen in over two years . . . not since before he and Fran had stopped _The Bahamut_ from crashing into Rabanastre. He . . . never made an appearance at her coronation. He had not even told her that he had survived to her face . . . instead he left tidings with Vaan to return Lord Rasler's wedding band to her. He probably should have returned the ring himself, in person . . . and it was not as though he did not care . . . he had simply been terribly busy. _Yes, indeed!_ The life of a sky pirate and all . . . thieving, pillaging, flying, exploring ruins, romancing women, evading bounty hunters, and all such important things had deterred him. There were a multitude of perfectly good reasons why he had stayed away. Only, now, present circumstances had led him back into Rabanastre. Led him back to sneaking into the palace. Led him here: standing before the queen's personal chamber. Balthier did so hope that he would find her alone in her bedchamber, it would be a nuisance if she were surrounded by armed guards . . . that would just be too cruel a game for the gods to play on him! Especially since he did, initially, try to gain entrance like a good law abiding hero. Or. . . at least as a hero anyway. Just two days prior he and Fran had waltzed up to the palace door, introduced themselves as the ones who risked their lives for Rabanastre, and asked to gain audience with the queen. He and Fran were well aware that common folk were not permitted to visit the ailing queen but, surly he thought, heroes such as themselves were an exception. Alas, no. As it turns out they were not excluded from this rule. No worries of course, hence Balthier's current standing. He just hoped that the queen was alright. . .

Two weeks prior word had spread like wildfire throughout Ivalice: Dalmasca's queen had fallen deathly ill and was to be bedridden, without visitors, until she regained health. At once he and Fran knew that they had to discover the truth of this rumor. Vaan and Penelo knew nothing and Basch had been unreachable. Balthier was here to find out for himself what the Hell Wyrm was going on!

Instead of knocking, Balthier jiggled the large golden door handle. He was careful to do it slowly so as not to cause sound. As he had expected, it was locked. This was no worry for a pirate such as himself. He commenced to slip the tip of a fine dagger into the lock and twisted it expertly until it clicked open. After picking hundreds of locks this one was almost a disappointment with how simple it was to crack. He expected better for the protection of the queen!

Once opened, Balthier strode cautiously into the grand bedchamber suite. It was fairly dark inside here as well, he wondered if the queen had retired for the night? Only a few dim candles illuminated the room, but they provided light enough for him to examine the finery. There was a glorious couch sewn of rare Spee fur, tables carved from trees of Feywood, and curtains trimmed with Red Chocobo feathers. Balthier new quality when he saw it, and the furnishings in this room were worth an incredible fortune! Hung upon the walls were life-sized paintings of the queen's late parents. The eyes of the painted figures seemed to follow Balthier as he moved in and out of the shadows . . . it was somewhat unsettling. The king's stare seemed to be cursing him for steeling into his daughters bedchamber after nightfall. He imagined that the mother's eyes, however, were approving of his stealth . . . and good looks too, naturally. Balthier grinned, entertained by his silly thoughts, and then reminded himself to be more modest. He was a pirate and no queen, dead or alive, would grant him a second thought.

Balthier rounded a corner and was surprised to find the queen herself on the other side! Her back was to him and she was leaning over her bed, vigorously packing a traveling satchel with camping gear and hi-potions. She seemed in a tremendous hurry to cram it full! She also appeared to be in fine health. Nothing in her posture seemed at all frail. Balthier ran his hands down his vest to smooth the fabric, and then tugged on each sleeve end so he would look his best. He _was_ in the presence of royalty. "Well, well," he casually strolled up behind her. "Your highness, it seems that rumors of your failing health have been greatly exaggerated."

Queen Ashe spun as though she had just been caught in an Aero attack! Gasping, her hands flew to her chest. Her action drew Balthier's eyes to the area -- and he could not help but make note that -- she looked stunning in black lace. The queen was clothed in dark lace from the hood round her head to the fringe of her boots. The hooded robe had long sleeves, thus concealing the armor which he was certain she adorned beneath. Her leggings were pinstriped grey and ebony . . . this material covered the rest of her and disappeared neatly into those knee-high boots. Her sense of fashion was still distracting to any mans vision. Realizing the he was staring at her feet, Bathier's eyes drifted to her face . . .

. . . his breath hitched in his throat . . . even now, gapping in disbelief as she was, Queen Ashe was even more beautiful than he had remembered. Balthier's eyes drank in her soft features until at last he met her gaze. Instantly their sight fused: her emerald eyes fumed like a tropical storm; wild with confusion, blustering with resent, yet . . . through the untamed squalls he saw the sentiment build. As a sole tear rained from her sight, Balthier felt more vulnerable than he had since. . .

. . . _Ah, yes_ . . .

. . ._that_ is why he truly stayed away so long.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Ashe's heart slammed against her chest like a war hammer. She felt as though Haste had been cast upon her and she was powerless to dispel it. Standing before her was . . . Balthier Bunansa! Was it truly him or was this a trick of her mind? Ashe had not seen him since that dreadful day when _The Bahamut _fell. Had it not been for Balthier and Fran, Rabanastre would have been destroyed. Ashe shuddered as the memory of that day replayed in her mind. She would never forget seeing _The Bahamut _burn . . . knowing that Balthier was still on board. She would never forget how she clutched the communicator and begged him not to die. Her heart would never forget the agony of that day. The feeling of loss still overwhelmed her, and Ashe felt her vision blur with tears. Losing someone you care about . . . it is an unbearable agony, one she had been forced to endure far more than her fare share of times. However, by some favor of the gods, neither Balthier nor Fran had perished that day. Although Ashe knew that Balthier had survived-- due to the note he had left with Vaan -- she was never fully able to believe it until _now_.

Ashe's sight washed over him . . . she was not hallucinating. It truly was Balthier! But what in Ivalice was he doing! How had he gained entry into the palace? Why was he here now? Dozens of questions plagued her mind, but Ashe had not the strength to voice them. Even as her heart rate relaxed, Ashe still remained incapable of doing anything but stare.

Balthier simply stood before her, the candlelight playing upon his features . . . he was devastatingly handsome. His appearance had barely altered since last he left her sight. Balthier frisked his fingers through his short bronze hair; every blade was perfectly groomed and stood flawlessly in place. Ashe's gaze caressed the smooth line of his jaw down to the collar of his shirt. His style of attire was also similar to how it had been during their past adventures; although he had, of course, updated a few accessories to keep up with the latest fashions. She took quick notice that Balthier still flaunted those tight leather pants . . . she had certainly not forgotten about _those_. His clothing alone was fine, but _Balthier _made them look incredible. Never before had a white dress shirt and vest looked so debonair. Balthier's clothing was not the only constant: he exhibited that same cocky smirk that he had worn with each proclamation of his _Leading Man _title.Only right now he seemed smugger still: he had caught her. She was packing. He had discovered that she was not really ill. Ashe clenched her jaw, suave as he was, this pirate _had_ broken into her home! She wanted to be furious with him! Angry that he had entered uninvited! Irate that he had snuck up behind her! Infuriated that he had waited two years to seek her out! Her blood pressure rose, but alas, she could not remain angry.

_After all this time . . ._

Ashe unconsciously grazed a finger over Rasler's wedding band; the one Balthier had worn for more than a year. She always wore it atop her own band. She did not know why Balthier had stayed away, but gods knew, she had missed him. Balthier had become a true friend throughout their journey to defeat Vayne. Over the past year she had accepted the possibility that his face was not meant for her eyes again. Accepted it yes, but that did not mean she did not wish circumstances were different.

Balthier took a ginger step forward, and bowed his head. "My queen. It is good to see you again." His eyes shone with sincerity.

Ashe swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dryer than the Westersands. She wanted to ask him where he had been? Why he had not written a second note? If he had ever thought about her, as she did so often about him? But, instead she settled for: "Balth-Balthier?"

"Ah, splendid! You remember me then. I was beginning to think you had forgotten me, and that would have been too much for my heart to endure," he winked, dramatically laying a hand over his chest.

Ashe could not help but match his smile. "I am glad to see you too, Balthier. Gods know your well-being has been in each of my nightly prayers. Only, I must ask: why are you here?" Balthier held her gaze, she felt as though he peered inside her most intimate thoughts. Struggling, Ashe lowered her head, breaking their interlocked sight. He was bold, always making personal eye contact; and when he stared at her with such openness . . . she felt defenseless. And defenseless was the one thing Ashe could not risk becoming.

"I heard you were _deathly ill_," Balthier raised a curious eyebrow. "I wanted to see you. Fran did too, of course. But one of us needed to distract the guards, and, she is much better than I at distracting the attentions of men." His eyes flicked toward her traveling bag. "Your highness, is everything alright? Clearly you are not ailing, and I wonder: why the lies? And, furthermore, where are you planning to go?"

Ashe sighed; so far she had confessed her secret only to her lead counsel members, Lord Larsa, and Basch. But now Balthier was here and she did not feel as though she could lie to his face. She exhaled wearily and plopped down on her bed, then motioned for him to join her. Bold stares were not his only personal forte; Balthier sat close enough for their thighs to touch.

"Your highness?" his voice was soothing, like the first warm breeze of spring.

Ashe allowed herself to indulge in the sincere depth of his eyes. "Though I am not in the dire states described, I am truly not well either, Balthier. I have . . ." she hesitated, nerves causing her lips to quiver. She had best tell him everything now. "I have been visited by a vicious demon . . . an Occurian of sorts. . ." her voice began to tremble. Balthier nodded gently, encouraging her to continue. "This demon has no known name. It visits me in every dream. I have not had a peaceful rest in a month's time. But now it does threaten me in the light of day as well. I believe it is Occurian because it spews words of revenge for my past disobedience. It has possessed my judgment several times. These times have been fleeting as I have fought hard to battle it away. Soon, however, I fear it will possess my whole being irreversibly. I weaken with each passing moment, Balthier. The Occurian heeds I give in, thus causing its entry into my body an easy one. Of course, I will not surrender my body . . . not when I know it plans to see Dalmasca in ruins. If it gains control over my mind and body the consequences will be horrible for my country. I must avoid using the Mist, for as it seeps into me the Occurian is better able to twist me, my thoughts are becoming mutilated. Before long I will not be in control of myself."

Balthier frowned doubtfully; this was not the reaction Ashe had expected. "Your highness, are you sure? I have not seen or heard of any malice actions by you."

"I am certain, Balthier. I do not know why or how this happens, but every morning I become more corrupt. My thoughts explore terrible, dark places . . . I see myself brining the terror in my thoughts to life. I am powerless to stop myself from these sinful actions."

Balthier shook his head slowly, not completely following what Ashe was referring too. "What _actions_?"

"This," Ashe pulled back the sleeve of her cloak – beneath, her entire forearm was wrapped in a bandage. "I cut myself last week. Deeply. I could not stop no matter how I screamed in pain. That is not all, I attacked Basch. Violently. Without warning or reason I cast Blizzaga upon him as he came to visit me and wish me well!" Ashe hung her head in shame, unable to meet Balthier's startled eyes. "Basch is alright, thank the gods. But I cannot be around him. I do not trust myself. Listen close, Balthier, for there is more: I tried to hurt Larsa as well; the boy had to _disable_ me. I am hardly able to regain control of myself after the demon takes me now! I am dangerous. The voice inside my head compels me to harm those I care for most. It seeks to bring ruin to my country! I am unfit to rule until I can save myself from this evil."

Balthier closed his eyes; he seemed to be rolling her grave confession over in his mind. Ashe watched him, her heart still from suspense: would he despise her? After a moment Balthier turned to her, wordlessly commanding her full attention. "I have already lost one person I cared for to the Occurian swine, I will not lose another," he took her hand; his touch sent a comforting warmth rushing through her. "Your highness, I volunteer my services to your aid once more."

"No!" Ashe yanked her hand from his and bolted upright. "It is far too dangerous to even be in my company!"

He joined her standing, a small smile fluttering over his lips. "I am a big boy, your highness. I can take care of myself. Where is our destination?"

Ashe glanced at her travel satchel, it was spilling with camping gear, hi-potions, and clothing. _Danjuro, _her favorite sword, lay next to the satchel. "I go where I must, Balthier. Thanks to Larsa's intelligence I seek another great power, an Esper who can combat my foe. This Esper is allegedly able to silence Occurian voices."

Balthier frowned skeptically. "How does Larsa know of such an Esper? In all my travels I have not heard any word of such a being."

"It has to be true!" Ashe snapped, a little too harshly. "Balthier, it is my only hope."

Balthier reached out, placing a mild grip on Ashe's shoulder. Again, she found his touch soothing. Ashe continued, hoping that Balthier would not remove his hand: "The Esper is a secret Archadian legend. The late Emperor Gramis concealed the record of its existence, fearing that Vayne might seek it out. It would have been a devastating addition to his arsenal. Larsa alone was trusted with the knowledge. This Esper was once wielded by the ancient Archadian king, Tunlius, who used it to save Archades from ruin during the Pon-Newtus wars. Because of the Espers tremendous power Tunlius sealed it away in a hidden tomb, praying that it never become common knowledge. The tomb is located south of the Archadian river. Larsa has trusted me with the incantation necessary to free the Esper. It will be a trying battle to earn the Esper's obedience." Ashe sighed. "In any case, I begin my journey toward the tomb tonight. Balthier, you can understand why Ivalice need believe me ill. No one can know where I go. Occurrences here, in my capital city, need to proceed normally. Basch is here now; temporarily overseeing my counsel. The only error in this plan is that Larsa is now without Basch's constant watch. Those loyal to Vayne have not been completely cleared way, I worry that Larsa may become a target without Basch to deter potential threats."

"No worries then," Balthier removed his hand from Ashe; she quickly masked her disappointment. "I shall have Fran stay with Larsa. She can fly to Archades tonight. Fran is just as competent a warrior as our good Basch, if not more so with her heightened senses."

"That _would _settle my worries, Balthier. Thank you. Next to Basch, there is no one I would trust more than Fran."

"Next to me, of course."

Ashe smiled, remembering how much she enjoyed his charms. "Balthier, my trust in you does not require words."

"And I am flattered, your highness," he dipped his head in respect. "So then, it is settled. I shall have Fran keep watch over Larsa; Basch will oversee duties here; and I shall accompany you on this journey. . . I assume you want to leave Vaan and Penelo out of this one? For their own good?"

"Yes, they can not be around me," Ashe hesitated. "And I am still not feeling safe about you coming along . . . this evil in me . . . it comes and goes like the Giza winds. I do not trust myself not to harm you, Balthier. Or to harm anyone, for that matter."

"All the more reason why I need to go."

Ashe cocked an eyebrow, confused.

Balthier took the liberty of lifting up her sleeve to reveal her bandaged arm again. "Who is to stop you from harming yourself?"

"Do you not understand the gravity of this? I may cause you terrible pain! I cannot believe you would take up such a risk so freely."

"I accept the risks, m'lady," he smirked, "and my services come only with the fee of our continued friendship. How is that for a bargain?" she soaked in the image before her: Balthier grinning broadly, handsomely, and confidently . . . she knew that she enjoyed his free spirit. . .

. . . but within her the desire boiled to _break him_ of it.

Ashe winced, managing to calm the evil yearning to a quite simmer. "Balthier, I will allow you to accompany me on one condition."

"Name it."

"If I should lose control and put you in harms path . . . you must stop me, Balthier. By any means necessary."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Tell me again please, m'lady, why can we not travel to Archades aboard the fashionable, comfortable, and climate controlled interior of _The Strahl?!_"

Several sand dunes ahead, the queen hurled Balthier a curt glare of nastiness, but said nothing. Balthier groaned, realizing that yet _another _sand pebble had found its way into his boot. He so despised those cursed little rocks; they always got beneath his toes and pinched away at his defenseless flesh. Fran was always murmuring to him about the wonders of nature, but right now all Balthier had to say on the matter was: "Blah!" Trying to balance upon one foot – a daunting task when sand is piled to ones shin -- Balthier removed his soiled boot and poured its contents upon the Dalmasca Estersand. He disliked the Estersand considerably, as it was mother to all irritating pebbles. Not only was the Estersand dirtybut it was stiflingly hot. The blistering rays of sun were unyielding; he could actually see the sweat evaporating from his hands.

"M'lady, it seems that itty bitty pieces of your country insist of taking refuge inside my boots. Perhaps you could have a word with them?" his sarcasm gained no reaction from the queen; nonetheless, Balthier went on: "I could have flown us to Archades in a few short hours; but via walking we shall not be there for three nights, at least!" Balthier dabbed the sweat on his brow with his handkerchief -- though he did not know why he bothered, it would soon be moist again.

He and the queen had set out early this morning and thus far only two hours separated them from Rabanaster. He had dissuaded her from leaving last night after their troubling conversation in her bedchamber. Balthier had thought it best to first go to Basch and Fran to update them on his role in this new adventure. Fran was on a flight to Archades now -- Larsa would be in very capable hands. Balthier would know.

As Balthier trudged onward, taking a swig from his water canteen, he knew it was only a matter of time before another wretched Cactoid, Ichthon, or Wolf got in their way. Fortunately, most of the wildlife in the Estersand required little effort to beat back; but once in a while the beasts would gang up on them, then he and the queen were allowed to indulge in real combat . . . like in the good old days. So far, together they had slain a good twenty beasts. He was pleased, for this offered him an opportunity to practice his aim with the gunand to brush up on his skills with the katana. But after not having done this sort of adventuring in some time he was beginning to tire. The dirty sand, sweat, and thirst were getting the better of him; and his muscles ached as proof.

As midday approached the sun climbed higher into the sky; it was as though the blasted orb were trying to find the best location from which to spotlight him. Balthier desperately wanted to stop and shower, but sadly there were no Inns with running water in the desert. In fact there were no Inns at all. By tomorrow he and the queen would be passing through Nalbina. But their stay in Nalbina was to be fleeting and with sparse comforts. Her highness had made him promise that they would keep to low-key facilities only – places where no one would spot her.

"The way I fly," he dawdled on, panting, "no one would even see us."

The queen turned to him, the scowl on her face was unbecoming for a beauty such as herself. "Balthier, have we not discussed this already? We must avoid air domes and other public places at all costs. We can not risk anyone recognizing me. Therefore we must endure traveling on foot . . . it is _safer_," her back was to him again. "Besides, if I lost control of myself upon _The Strahl _I might ruin her."

As much as Balthier did not enjoy walking through the Estersand, he much less enjoyed the prospect of the queen casting magicks spells inside his cockpit. Face puckering sourly, Balthier jogged up beside her. She cast him a sideways glare, but then set her sights quickly before her. "I have not seen this nasty side of you yet, m'lady. Aside from the unflattering scowl you just tossed my way, of course."

"And I pray that I can keep her under control for the duration of our journey, Balthier," the queens voice was barely a whisper, but Balthier understood her loud and clear. He scanned her carefully as she marched along; plowing through deep nests of sand. The queen had folded her cloak away into her satchel; the Estersand was repulsively hot for such coverings. Balthier was tempted to rid himself of his top coverings. He would have liked to travel with the sun upon his bare skin. Only he realized that would be completely inappropriate in the company of a queen. Brash as his tongue could be, Balthier was a gentleman.

The queen wore a sleeveless grey top; it matched her pinstriped leggings wonderfully. Balthier strained not to comment on how figure flattering the top was. However, he also had to strain not to wince at each glance of her forearm bandage. Earlier that morning he had asked her why she had not cured the injury with a potion? The queen's reply was that she wanted the wound to serve as a reminder -- a physical symbol of what happened when she lost control. A chilling thought for sure, but Balthier understood.

He sighed; the queen's lovely face wore a sad frown. She appeared nervous, edgy. Her sight was fixed before her, but frequently jutted about as though paranoid something horrible would sneak upon them. Balthier had never seen the queen this uptight, not even before entering Vayne Solidor's chamber. During the morning battles the queen had refused to use Mist. She was honestly afraid that its use would turn her irreversibly evil. On top of that she did not wish to wield any black magicks either, fearing those would also point her down the dark path. This combat situation was fine and dandy as long as they remained in the Estersand, but once they ventured into places with more dreadful foes Balthier feared for the condition of their party. This left him responsible for casting all black spells and using the Mist to do all needed summons or quickenings. Balthier only prayed that the young queen could keep up her stamina with a sword . . . if she tired physically then polishing off monsters would be entirely up to him . . . not that Balthier minded. Knocking filthy beasts down a notch brought him quite a bit of satisfaction. And he so liked thrashing his katana. Despite this, he frowned as thoughts of the good old days bounced about his mind. Being in that party of six made him feel invincible; he felt there was no task too intimidating as long as the others had his back. But those days were over. Now but a third of the party remained, but it was his most favorite-

Suddenly, Balthier's face collided with the ground. He felt as though his body had been rammed by an Archadian cab. His muscles screamed in agony as he was slammed into the sizzling earth. The air had been brutally knocked from his lungs and instead replaced by mouthful of burning sand. Balthier sputtered and gagged wildly, his limbs being weighted by an unknown force. He was suffocating, and worse something unbearably sharp was piercing the flesh of his back . . . it felt like . . . claws. At once Balthier realized he had been ambushed by a wolf. The creature pawed at his back again, peeling his flesh like fruit skin; he was instantly glad he had not chosen to remove his vest after all. So far the wolf had not penetrated his skin deeply, but it was well on its way. Balthier heard the queens muffled cry, she sounded terribly alarmed.

Straining, Balthier cast an Aero attack which successfully knocked the wolf from his back. Balthier winced as he climbed to his feet . . . the sand below him was speckled with gore, and unfortunately it was not the wolf's. No matter, there was a queen to assist and his wounds would have to wait their turn. Smothering the urge to brush the sand from his clothing, Balthier rushed toward the queen; she was being circled by a pack of wolves. There were at least fifteen of the dreadful beasts -- including a particularly tough looking alpha. Balthier cringed as sand stung his skinned back; it was excruciating to draw his katana; every flinch of his muscles rubbed the wounds further raw. He traded a serious look with the queen: they had better be ready. These beasts were hungry. Although wolves were generally easy to defeat, Balthier had never attempted to fight more than a few at once before; and even then he had had many other armed hands at his side. The wolves surrounded them menacingly, drool flinging from their lips as they yowled and snapped their jaws. The queen drew her sword and went to work slashing away at the closest predator. Balthier did the same, but was immediately alarmed to find that the wolves were not backing off. He struck one atop the skull with his katana, but that only seemed to anger, rather than deter, the beast. The queen seemed to be having better luck than he: she had slaughtered two already and was working on a third. As another wolf came lurching his way, Balthier slashed its belly and quickly stepped aside so as not to dirty his boots on its entrails. They seemed to fall much easier after that. He almost grinned, realizing that once he got into the flow, this battle would be won easily.

"M'lady?" he called out, dodging a set of feral claws.

"What?" she grunted, kicking a wolf from her leg.

"Old times, eh?"

"Yes," she did not sound pleased. "This brings back memories indeed, Balthier."

Another wolf attempted to tackle him, but he gingerly sidestepped it and sliced it down. He possibly could have finished them all off with a nice Thundaga, but that would both prove little fun as well as a waste of magicks. Since he was the only capable black mage, he needed to conserve.

"We had fun back then, did we not?" he smiled, despite the fact that a wolf just tore his shirt cuff.

"The arch to my fondest memories," the queen's voice sounded resentful.

Balthier was too occupied to glance her way, but he wondered why she spoke with spite? He knew it had naught to do with the wolves, as there were only six remaining.

"_Give this to our Queen for me, would you_?" she finally spoke out, her tone drenched in bitterness.  
Balthier peered at her now, utterly confused. "Pardon me?" A wolf sent him rolling along the ground, but he was rapid to regain his footing.

Ashe finished off another, and then lanced Balthier with an expression that would make a Pit Fiend flinch. "_Give this to our Queen for me, would you_? Is that all you truly had to say?"

Balthier's breath caught in his throat . . . he realized that she was quoting _him._ The note he had left with Rasler's wedding band last year. He was wholly caught off guard by this conversation topic. "Well," with a swing of his katana there were only two wolves remaining, one of them was the tough alpha. "I was quite busy this past year, m'lady. I do have a life, hence the whole sky pirate thing."

"What?" the queen snapped curtly. She lowered her sword only to strike him with another crippling glare. "Balthier, what could have been_ so_ pressing that you NEVER came to see me? Not once!"

Balthier recoiled as the pain in his back became graver, but he masked his discomfort very well with his voice: "A fair question," he admitted coolly. "You see, I was busy pillaging-"

The queen severed his words, screaming: "PILLAGING?"

Her reaction too -- what he thought was -- a rather reasonable explanation, was unsettling. After all he _was _a pirate, and any good pirate needed to do a bit of pillaging now and again. But if that answer did not satisfy her he would serve up another: "And adventuring. I have done a good deal of adventuring!"

Forgetting the wolf, the queen stormed toward him. Clearly she did not like that answer either. "ADVENTURING?"

The anger in her voice caused Balthier to falter; he racked his brain for the remainder of his pirate priority list: "Romancing women. I was terribly busy doing that."

The queen turned to him, infuriated. "Why you arrogant, rotten, son of a Vivian-" as she spun to face him, the alpha wolf got the best of her. . .

. . . Balthier saw her assault occur before him, but he was powerless to prevent it. Like a rockslide the alpha crashed down upon her, pinning her back to the ground and crushing her. The queen let loose a horrible scream as its jagged claws scraped across her stomach.

Balthier did not hesitate: he slammed the alpha; physically leaping upon it and seizing its snarled mane in his fist. Groaning, he thrust his blade deep into its side. The alpha screeched in pain; its body rolling off the queen. The beast attempted to scramble to its paws -- no doubt to finish them off -- only Balthier let loose a Fira which sent the alpha rushing off, yelping away into the desert.

Balthier's heart pulsated like the engine of a racing airship. He swayed dizzily on his feet, blistering pain screaming down his back. "M'lady!" Stumbling woozily, Balthier made his way over to the queen. "M'lady!" he knelt beside her on the ground. She lay on her back, eyes wide. The queen's stomach was bloody; but the alpha had not slashed as deep as Balthier had feared. The wounds were superficial but would still require attention to halt the bleeding. He grabbed her satchel and began fishing for a hi-potion. "I shall fix that up, hold still."

"_No_! I like pain," she rasped, slapping his hand from her satchel.

"Excuse me?" Balthier had most certainly heard her, but he could not help but second guess her eerie comment.

"Nothing," she mumbled, somewhat incoherently. "Here, help me," she gave him the satchel.

Balthier inhaled deeply, attempting to steady his own consciousness. Gods knew, the Estersand did not need both of them fainting upon its heinous sand dunes. Balthier retrieved two hi-potions, he was clearly overdue himself. The queens eyes were cast downward, she was fiercely avoiding his stare. Balthier sighed, still fully disturbed by what she had just said, but he did not press her. Nor did he press her about the emotional outburst during their battle. Why had she chosen to drudge up the past? Was she truly that upset by his note and his lack of contact . . .? If so why? Or was the blame upon that foul Occurian? Was it toying with her? Toying with him? Granted, her majesty _was _a woman and therefore allowed a few emotional outbursts, but these were completely out of character for Dalmasca's strong queen. She was not like most of the women he had known. For the first time, Balthier was truly unnerved about the presence of this evil . . . of what it might do to her.

Balthier Bunansa was not easily unnerved.

He poured the contents of the hi-potion upon the queen's stomach. Next he splashed the second upon his own back. The hi-potion felt like hot wax against his aching skin, it slowly dripped inside every gory laceration. He breathed easier. Balthier could feel his torn flesh sear back together. He was still fairly lightheaded from initial blood loss, but was at least reliably functional again.

The queen was still lying backward, propped upon her elbows to make it easier for Balthier to tend her lesions. The hi-potion went to work immediately – her broken skin began to regenerate at once. In a few moments her skin had sealed itself together; it looked as though no attack had ever taken place. Balthier gently placed his hand on her stomach; his hand was very large lying across her tiny waist. He proceeded to gently wipe the remaining blood away with his handkerchief. The queen eyed him silently; nibbling her lower low lip . . . her eyes were wide . . . wild. Balthier tried to ignore her perplexing reaction and instead concentrated on cleaning her up. He focused on her stomach . . .

As a man who sought after the finest things, Balthier could not help but notice how smooth the queen's skin was . . . how the curve of her waistline was like the soft arc of a beautiful ship. He had always admired her toned and feminine shape, but he had never once touched her. He wondered, in this moment, what it would be like to pilot the body of a queen?

But, naturally, Balthier kept that comment to himself. It was a most inappropriate line of thought!

As he cleared away the last bit of blood, Balthier felt the queen shiver beneath his fingers. He wondered: how could she be cold in the Estersand? Concerned, Balthier glanced up. The queen's eyes were wider now, they seemed foggy . . . untamed . . .

. . . familiar.

Balthier had seen _this_ look in the eyes of many women when he touched them.

Balthier slowly drew his hands from the queen; he was not willing to name or acknowledge what he saw in her eyes. "All better now, m'lady. Ready to proceed?"

The queen climbed to her feet. Flushing, she gripped the tattered remains of her shirt. Balthier thanked the gods that her chest was still concealed by the fabric. "I am," was her reply. Without another word the queen pushed past him, retrieved her sword, and marched onward through the yawning landscape of sand.

Balthier shook his head.

The pirate and the queen traveled the next 16 kilometers in near perfect silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Lord Rasler had been dead but four years. For his widow those years seemed like a desolate eternity. Living behind palace walls left Queen Ashelia B'Nargin feeling isolated from the simple pleasures in life. In four years not once had she sincerely laughed. In fact, her entire life had been diminished to a mere royal existence: not once had she enjoyed a weekend shopping at the bazaar with a friend; not once had she been to a luncheon merely to relax with friends. Come to ponder on it, Ashe no longer had any friends. Vaan, Penelo, Basch, Fran and Balthier had been reduced to acquaintances. She never saw them. Rarely wrote to them. Had no clue what happenings occurred in their lives. Ashe contemplated this: she and Fran had never wandered to the bazaar to gaze at trinkets. She and Basch had never partaken in conversation simply for the delight of it. She and Penelo had never gotten together to discuss the trivial events in their life such as hobbies, fashions . . . or romance.

Even thinking of the word_ romance _caused loneliness to brutally chafe at her soul. Four years since Rasler's passing meant it had been four years since Ashe had felt a mans touch. She was but twenty one, hardly an old maid, and yet she had given up on ever feeling true passion again . . . until Balthier had touched her. It was not as though Balthier's touch intended sinful pleasure, Ashe reminded herself; she just could not help but feel aroused as his hands moved over her stomach, softly, gently . . . expertly. Reprimanding herself, Ashe had to concentrate on the fact that he was_ only_ cleaning her wound. The stir she felt frightened her, her feelings for the pirate frightened her. She thought she had recovered from her past attraction to the man. She thought that his years of absence had dulled the aching in her heart. But now the gods had sent him, literally, climbing back into her life.

Although Balthier now walked but several paces behind her the two exchanged rare words. The air was tense between them. Incredibly tense. Thus, as they walked the remainder of the Estersand hills, Ashe had much time to reflect upon the suave pirate. To reflect upon why she honestly allowed his company upon this quest, why she felt she needed him at her side.

Ashe had begun to develop feelings for Balthier sometime throughout the course of their previous journey. She was just unsure of precisely _when._ Physically she had been attracted to him at first meeting –but was suspicious that there was more to he and Fran's relations than strict pirating. She was also not searching for romance – Rasler was never going to leave her heart, and Ashe had far more important things to concern herself with: the fate of Dalmasca, her return to the thrown, and defeating Vayne. However, mature and noble as she struggled to be, Ashe was still but a young Hume woman -- and she was not immune to girlish infatuations.

It was sometime between their meeting in the waterway and _The Bahamut's_ fall, that Ashe realized her feelings for the pirate had not only crossed the boundaries of camaraderie, but had also surpassed those of an innocent crush. What potential these feelings had Ashe would never know. _The Bahamut _stole him away; and then, as if to confirm the smothering of this flame, Balthier never bothered to visit her or to even send word. He clearly did not feel as she did. Perhaps it had all been a pathetic infatuation after all? She had wondered this, countless nights alone in her bed.

Only . . . there _were_ those times over their journey where she would catch Balthier glancing her way. Though he stared at many women, she could not help but feel that her emotions were being reflected back. Sometimes Ashe would even trick herself into believing that he was developing feelings for her too, and that, like her, he was simply clueless with what to do about them. After all, she was a royal who valued virtue; and he a thief who stole more hearts than loot. Perhaps she would never know how he had felt back then? But Ashe could plainly hear the voice in her own heart, and it sang a song she had not heard in four years.

Ashe sighed miserably, her feet shuffling through the piles of sand. Her soles, ankles, even her toes felt unbearably tired. Every muscle within her groaned to be laid at rest. She and Balthier had nearly walked the entire Estersand in one day's time.

The sun was beginning its lazy decline. It gradually sunk below the far Nalbina Mountains as though an invisible hand were pressing it down. Ashe was grateful for this sunset; she had spent the better part of the day sweating beneath its heated waves. Her face was sore from overexposure and she had been panting for the last half hour. The sunlight would generally be welcomed, but not in a place where feral beasts incessantly lunged at her. The roasting rays made every swing of her blade cause pain. Fortunately neither she nor Balthier had received further injury since their ambush by that wolf pack.

Ashe was now dragging her feet; they formed perfect twin trails in the sand behind her. It took all of her efforts not too drop _Danjuro_, as the sword felt as though it now outweighed her. Ashe had only a few mouthfuls of water remaining in her canteen -- she was thankful that they would be in Nalbina by tomorrow to replenish supplies.

Acting as though she were stretching her neck, Ashe glanced back at Balthier. This awkward silence was horrendous! Ashe needed to at least peek at what he was doing.

Not surprisingly, Balthier was also dully trudging along. His posture -- usually like that of a prince -- was sluggish, and bits of dust had caught in his hair (though Ashe did not dare alert him of it). She noted that his eyes were fixed upon the torn cuff of his blouse, a rip that had no doubt occurred during their skirmish with the wolves. It was for this precise reason that Balthier generally chose ranged weapons -- he hated to place his fine attire at risk of such damage. Ashe could not help but smirk at the subtle irritation creasing his brow, she would be sure to replace his blouse before this quest was over.

The smile on her face was quickly mirrored by the feeling in her heart; Ashe felt grateful that Balthier was beside her now. She dreaded what her state would be had she set off on this daunting quest alone. Balthier was the _only_ thing around her that she could trust. Though, right now, she wondered what his opinion was of her? She had completely lost control of her own voice earlier; and then she had humiliated herself by becoming aroused by his touch. Ashe only hoped that he had not seen the desire in her gaze. If he _had_ then he was acting like a superb gentleman, for Balthier had not breathed a word of it. Then again, aside from battle commands, he had not spoken at all. This concerned Ashe for Balthier was a man who greatly enjoyed the sound of his own voice. Ashe told herself that he was quite due to contemplation; after hearing the demon in her voice he most likely needed time to ponder his situation. Ashe would respect that. She only hoped he did not regret his decision to be here with her. She felt terrible for allowing the darkness to speak such sickening, pain lusting words. She could hardly believe that she had told Balthier that she _liked pain._ Only, little did Balthier know how hard she had fought to keep the rest of her cruel thoughts from being voiced. Ashe shuddered as she recalled the first wolf tackling him. It had pinned his face into the Estersand and began shredding at his back. It was a brutal sight and she had screamed. But when Balthier freed himself and stood, her entire demeanor was twisted . . . blood drizzled from him like thick fruit juice. . . the blood dripped down the length of his back, pouring upon the sand and pooling about his feet . . . Ashe had watched in _fascination_,she was overcome by a sickening glee. Ashe had _liked _seeing Balthier bleed. Her stomached churned with guilt as she relived those distorted emotions. She felt nausea boil with in her; she despised the evil demon. She fought to end bloodshed and gore -- she did not fight to spawn it. As a queen, as a _woman_, she needed to be stronger. She could not allow herself to receive pleasure from such sin, whether it be ignited by Balthier's blood . . . or his touch.

Behind her Balthier stifled a yawn, drawing Ashe from her troubled thoughts. Ashe halted her movement, allowing him to catch up with her.

"Your highness?" he peered down at her, concern evident in his russet-brown eyes.

Caught within the fading sunlight Balthier suddenly seemed a being far too fair to be of this cold Hume world . . . Ashe imagined that instead he was visiting from a beautiful, golden world atop the sun itself. She realized her thoughts were foolishly romantic, but she cared not as her eyes strayed from his face to his throat to his broad chest. The blouse, the vest, the jewels . . . even after conquering the Estersand, this pirate looked incredibly dapper. Ashe doubted that the Estersand saw men like him very often. Then, Ashe wondered what his strong chest might feel like against her cheek? Would the rhythm of his heartbeat strum her woes away?

"Your _highness_?" Balthier repeated, louder this time. His voice successfully nudged Ashe from her curiosity. Her eyes fluttered upward, a curious smile graced Balthier's lips -- he knew she was eyeing him. But, to Ashe's relief, he was not sour over it. Rather, some of that notorious charm lit his eyes. Ashe felt as though an invisible shackle had been removed from her heart . . . the period of cumbersome silence was over.

"Shall we make camp here for the night?" Ashe asked, pointing to flat spot of land before them.

"Splendid idea, m'lady," Balthier stretched his arms above his head, and then dropped his satchel with the camping gear upon the sand. He quickly got to work pitching their tent, and Ashe got busy unfolding the quilts for them to slumber upon. One might think that warm coverings were unneeded while sleeping in the Estersand, however the desert could often reach cool temperatures after dark. Had Basch been present he would have insisted that Ashe sit tight and rest while he set things up. However, Balthier knew how prideful she was. The pirate understood that it would be insulting not to welcome her assistance; she liked that about him.

With teamwork the tent was pitched and ready for slumber in record time. Ashe beamed upon her handiwork; the interior looked rather cozy for such a small tent. This was originally the shelter she had intended for only herself, therefore it would not provide ample space for either of them to stretch out once inside. The width was barely a meter and a half, and lengthwise would be just comfortable enough for a tall man, such as Balthier, to fit without his feet in the sand. Both could forget about standing upright, this was a tent you humbly crawled inside.

"Well then, that was a grand display of collaboration if I have ever seen one before," Balthier gathered up both of their weapons and set them neatly in the rear of the tent. The habit of sleeping with weapons had been one they had both developed long ago -- he from the head-hunters endlessly at his heels and she from the incessant stalking of Archadian warriors. She liked that Balthier shared her need for a weapon; many people might be put off by such a paranoid tendency. But neither she nor Balthier owed any explanation, the understanding was mutual. Sleeping with a blade in proximity reassured Ashe that she could fade into dreamland and still defend herself should a criminal appear when she woke. Only now, even her dreams offered her little respite -- as this was the time when she was powerless against the Occurian voice. Ashe wished she could wield her blade against the demon, but defeating it was far from that simple.

Ashe freed her feet from the heavy boots and allowed her toes to relish in the balmy desert breeze. She was going to sleep wearing the same leggings and shredded top she had worn this whole day; she had only packed two other pieces of clothing and she wanted to save them for entering a city. If she wore them prior she risked their ruin.

Ashe knelt at the tents entrance and pulled a ration bar from her satchel. She was almost too exhausted to eat, but she had gone the entire day on only a few pieces of dried fruit and meat – the queen's stomach cried out for something of more substance. Ashe offered a ration to Balthier but he declined with a wave of his hand -- for a pirate he had very particular tastes in food stuffs. Balthier had enjoyed a splendid breakfast this morning at the palace and had brought along several gourmet goodies from the meal. He had been snacking upon syrup cakes throughout the better part of the day.

As Ashe munched quietly on her dreary ration bar, she could not help but stare as Balthier walked to the edge of camp. His back faced her now and he seemed to be surveying the landscape, perhaps making sure there were no beasts lurking in the shadows. The sun had been wholly swallowed by the mountains, but a full moon replaced its position in the sky. This moon provided generous illumination, and almost seemed to favor Balthier beneath its light. Of course, she had though that the sun also favored him . . . Ashe smirked, perhaps women were not the only ones to fall prey to his charms?

With his back still to her, Balthier reached behind himself and slowly began to loosen the leather ties of his vest. His fingers carefully worked each knot, patiently pulling the fabric loose. He touched the fabric with such ginger grace and Ashe felt somewhat jealous . . . why was that vest worthy to experience the delicacy of his fingers? With a soft heave, Balthier pulled the vest over his head; it fell to the sand with a heavy thump. Balthier eyed the slashes in its fabric with genuine remorse. Only now did Ashe bare witness to _how _blood-stained his blouse was. The formerly white top was torn ragged and wholly saturated with drying blood. Balthier could not see the red ruin on his back, but Ashe was certain that he knew his blouses time was spent. Once again guilt swelled within Ashe as she recalled the excitement at seeing him bleed. Clearly Balthier had been seriously injured, and not once did she even inquire about his condition. Thank the gods he had used a hi-potion upon himself when he did. Had she not relinquished the hi-potions to him he might have fainted . . . or worse . . . as shuddered, ashamed.

Balthier was now busy unbuttoning the front of his blouse; he stiffened, hesitating on whether or not to remove the soiled article of clothing. He sighed loudly, seeming to think it best he leave it on for the night despite its stains. Sinful disappointment stung Ashe -- not once had her eyes enjoyed the sight of his chest. Ashe scolded herself, understanding that Balthier did not take pleasure in wearing a soiled shirt, and that rather he refrained to be modest in her presence. Balthier kicked off his boots, but made no motion to remove the leather pants -- not that Ashe really minded. She had never known any man to display himself in such . . . distracting pants. Then again, maybe she had simply never known a man who could successfully pull off such daring attire.

Balthier turned to face her now, and Ashe pretended to be very interested in the last crumbs of her ration bar. Her fake concentration on the bar only lasted so long however, for as Balthier turned around the desert wind embraced him. This humid gust whipped by him, causing his unbuttoned blouse to blow open. Ashe was granted a fleeting glimpse at his well-muscled body. Catching her eye, Balthier smirked ever so faintly; but he quickly held his shirt closed. Ashe blushed as he bent and shimmied his way past her to get inside the tent. Following him, she was rapid to cover for her straying eye: "Balthier, I fear you will be too cool with your blouse unbuttoned so."

"Now, now, m'lady," he began through a yawn, "I realize my tremendous appeal, but I am certain you can control yourself for one night."

Her blood pressure rose and Ashe was about to berate him until she spotted the jest in his eyes. "Such vanity is the only indecency I know of here tonight, Balthier."

He grunted with amusement, but said nothing.

Balthier lay upon his quilt; only an arms length separated the two. Balthier rested upon his left side and she on her right . . . they faced each other in thoughtful silence.

Balthier's lips were now anchored by a pensive frown. Ashe knew what swarmed his thoughts: he debated over mentioning her previous frantic behaviors. A part of her would be relieved if invited to properly apologize, but another part of her desperately wanted to forget.

The moonlight tricked in through the open tent flap, it cast a spotlight upon the tiny tease of skin which Balthier's blouse left uncovered. Ashe closed her eyes; she would not give him reason to gorge his ego again this night.

"M'lady?" Balthier's voice was like a dying breath.

Ashe's eyes fluttered open and instantly found solace in his. Even had _Stop _been cast upon her Ashe knew that it would not hinder her from submerging within the depth of his eyes . . . she wanted to loose herself forever in that alluring hazel gaze. In this moment his stare made her feel as though she were the only woman upon Ivalice.

"What you . . ." he hesitated, this was not characteristic of the swift-tongued pirate. He started again: "What you said earlier, about _liking _pain . . . I know it was not your voice. However, I also know that your resentment toward me, for not being there these past years, _was_. I deserved the verbal lashing, m'lady. I have slacked upon my duties as your friend; I will not disappoint you again."

Ashe sucked in a short breath. His apology was entirely unexpected – _she _had been the one preparing to ask for his forgiveness on the matter. "Balthier, I was wrong to speak to you so curtly. You are a true friend and, though I am not certain that I deserve your loyalty, I am grateful to have you here with me. I- I do not know what came over me in that moment. You are a selfless man and I did not mean to guilt you . . . and . . . and I feel such sorrow . . . such . . ." Ashe's expression suddenly shattered along with her voice. The pitiless hand of emotion seized hold of Ashe and threatened to drown her within her own tears of grief. "I- I am sorry," she was nearly blinded by the swell of moisture in her eyes. Ashe cast her sight downward, not wanting him to see her strong façade crumble; of course it was far too late: the walls Ashe had worked so hard to build around her were already down, the remains washing away in the stream of sadness from her eyes. Ashe silently reproached herself, a queen should never fall victim to emotional weakness. She, of all queens, was not the sort to allow sadness to overwhelm her. It had been four years since she had allowed herself to sob like this. In the past she had had fair reason, but now? Was she truly shallow enough to mourn her own self? Ashe only cried harder, for she knew naught her own self anymore. She could not even trust her own thoughts, her own feelings; did her emotions even belong to her anymore? Or were they the possession of the evil lurking about her mind. She was so use to the presence of this other voice now that she rarely even second-guessed the bitter words and feelings it willed her to endure.

Ashe felt Balthier's tender grip upon her shoulder. She realized that harsh sobs were racking her body; the anguish she felt was causing her to physically tremble. Through the haze of tears Balthier was but a beautiful blur before her. Ashamed, Ashe buried her face in her hands. She wanted to verbally plea her embarrassment, but the words would not come -- only the sounds of lost, choking sobs.

Without a word, Balthier pulled her small body into his arms. Ashe instinctively nuzzled into the opening of his blouse, pressing her face upon his bare chest. Balthier's skin was a luxurious warmth, like the first ray of sun after a grueling winter storm. Desperately_ needing_ to cling to this lavish comfort, Ashe slid her arms beneath the fabric of his blouse, around him, and gripped his muscled back. His body was incredibly athletic . . . firm, but his skin was soft like the petals of a Galbana lilly. She pressed her nose to his chest now, inhaling the scent of his skin. He smelled of the Estersand, of wolf blood, of gun powder, but as she inhaled more deeply Ashe scented the most wonderfully addictive aroma of her life: _him._ Swirled together these sensual scents caused her frame to quiver harder. One of Balthier's hands found its way into her hair; he gently massaged her scalp. His other was on the small of her back, trying to stabilize her shivers of grief. Ashe pulled herself in closer to him; she pressed her chest into him, her legs – her entire body. Ashe wanted to be as close to him as possible, she wished she could melt into his skin, stay with him so that he could never abandon her ever again.

Balthier remained silent as she cried, knowing that she desperately needed to release her sorrow. He understood that he possessed naught the words to calm her, but that his touch could instead begin to soothe her quails.

How long she had cried into his arms, Ashe did not know. But, after some time had passed, she felt her eyes dry and her sobs become muffled. Slight embarrassment tinted her checks. The queen instructed herself to release him at once and retreat to her own side of the tent. However, every time she tried to pull her hands from him they refused to comply. And this, she feared, could_ not_ be blamed on the Occurian.

Even when her weeping had wholly subsided, Balthier did not make any move to release her. He simply continued to run his fingers through her hair; his large hand cradling her head. Balthier's chin was resting gently upon her head; the tent was completely silent now aside from pounding of their hearts. Ashe snuggled against him; her tear-dampened hair seemed to plaster her face against his skin. Ashe relished the vibration of his heart beneath her ear. His heartbeat was steady, reliable . . . the first certain thing she had been able to count on in years. She had once laid her head upon Rasler's chest just like this; she had once believed his heartbeat would forever be there to soothe her woes . . . Ashe clenched her teeth against the memory. Would Balthier's heartbeat leave her one day as well? She ground her teeth until she tasted enamel; she could not endure a loss like that again. She could _not._

Ashe glanced up at Balthier. Feeling her shift, Balthier met her sad gaze; their faces were mere inches apart. Panting against the others lips, their breath swirled together in an invisible dance. Upon her body, Balthier's hands fell still; but Ashe only clutched him tighter, allowing her fingers to explore the groove of his spine and the hardness of his shoulders. Ashe admired him now, with no tears to impair her gaze. Balthier's completion was flawless, smooth as though it had been carved from precious stone. His lips were parted just ever so slightly. Ashe watched with fascination as they trembled beneath her stare. Her eyes lingered upon his lips . . . were they as soft as they looked? Did they taste as alluring as he smelled? Would they welcome her as warmly as his arms had? Would they be able to show her pleasures that she had nearly forgotten in this life?

As though reading her thoughts, Balthier stiffened. His lips moved, but not toward her . . . they moved in preparation of words: "Your highness." With that simple reminder of her title, Ashe was yanked from her shameless thoughts. She withdrew her hands from beneath his blouse and, blushing fiercely, she searched his eyes . . . they were like pools of liquid gold, smoldering with a raw emotion she had never once seen before.

No sooner had Ashe begun to loose herself, did Balthier shut his eyes. When they reopened, his sight was much clearer, cooler. The steam had faded away.

Ashe smiled timidly and scooched back to her own side of the tent. She felt horribly foolish for clinging to him. For allowing him to see her will collapse. For acting so pathetic, so needy. Especially when she had only recently promised herself that she would not take sinful pleasure from his touch. But, alas, she had taken pleasure from his touch, it had been but soothing at first . . . then, the closer she got to him the closer she wanted to be. Ashe's feelings for this sky pirate had not died with _The Bahamut._ She might have hidden them away, even fooled herself into believing them gone, but the moment he faced her in her bedchamber the resurrection had begun. Throughout the day she had wondered if he had felt the same. She had seen lust in his eyes but a moment ago. . . Ashe was nearly certain of it. But any man was capable of lust . . . _especially_ Balthier Bunansa. A dull ache worked its way from her stomach to her heart as Ashe remembered that, just moments ago, he had promised to be a better _friend_. He barely ever even called her by name. And nothing would ever change the fact that he had spent the past two years _romancing women _while she grieved alone behind palace walls.

Reading the pain in her face, Balthier reach out and touched her hand. "Do not fret, m'lady. I _will _release you from this demon, no matter what the trials before us."

Ashe nodded her thanks and then curled into a tiny ball. Little did Balthier know that the current worries in her head had naught to do with the Occurian. For the first time in months the demon had actually left her mind only to be replaced by another torture.

Ashe could no longer stand to look upon his handsome face; she pulled the quilt over her eyes and rolled over. She heard Balthier release a heavy sigh and move himself back onto his own side of the tent. Ashe would never forget those amazing moments of comfort. She cared for Balthier all the more for his devotion to saving her. But as her thoughts returned to reality an evil whisper began echoing within her mind. Ashe squeezed her eyes tight shut, silently praying to the gods for aid.

For the first time in four years Queen Ashelia B'Nargin felt as though she had something worth fighting for _besides_ Dalmasca. For the first time in four years she felt the excruciating sting of fear -- for she also had something unbearable to lose.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Blood. The body below Ashe was saturated within it. The blood seemed to flee recklessly from this body; acting as though it were escaping a lifelong imprisonment. Ashe watched the blood as it continued to surge free . . . almost glistening like liquid rubies. Ashe did naught but awe as it gushed from the corpse and began to pool about her feet. She could see such a variety of colors -- blood could not be described simply as _red. _Blood swirled with hues of crimson. Blood dripped with shades of scarlet. Fresh blood, like this, was a deep burgundy . . . and as it spilled upon the floor, thickening and churning, it seemed almost black. But all of these mortal colors fused now, thus creating a gory mosaic beneath her feet. The blood seeped through the fabric of Ashe's boots; it was warm and sticky upon her toes like hot syrup. Only now did Ashe truly comprehend that a man was lying dead before her. That man had been clearly massacred into this gruesome state.

Despite the boiling pool within her boots, Ashe felt now frozen with dread. Her eyes washed over the man. He had been brutalized so that his clothing was stained black from gore. He was drenched. The blood clung to him like oil, thickly blanketing him with gooey darkness. Ashe gasped, unthawing just enough to reach out to touch the man. Her fingers trembled so violently she feared they would break.

Was this man still alive? Could any man survive such blood loss? What had happened to him? Ashe knelt beside him; her knees sank into to the fleshy liquid like a vat of steaming glue. Why was there so much blood? It was not possible for a man to bleed like this, Ashe was certain of it. The room . . . it seemed to be filling with blood. Bile lurched up her esophagus -- burning her throat with its acidity. Ashe covered her mouth but could not prevent herself from retching. Gasping through the vomit, Ashe grasped the fabric on the man's back – she needed to steady herself. The fabric was so slick she could barely hold it. Ashe laid her other hand upon his shoulder -- he was still warm. Maybe he _was_ alive?

Ashe's stomach lurched as another putrid mouthful escaped her, the gore clung to her fingers like scalding slime. The blood reeked of bitterness, of death . . . it was a stench she was far too familiar with but had not once gotten use to. Ashe gently squeezed the man's shoulder, the act causing him to moan.

He was alive.

"Sir!" Ashe yelped, reaffirming her grip. "I shall help you, hold on."

She suddenly remembered that she was wearing her satchel. Ashe began frantically searching for a hi-potion, a potion . . . anything that might aid this man.

A bitter whimper escaped Ashe -- all of her potions were empty. How had she not remembered to refill the bottles? Ashe instead prepared to cast a _Cureaga,_ only, the magic fizzled away at her finger tips. She choked back a frustrated sob and tried again. The spell still would not work. Her Magicks had been wholly drained away. Why? How?

"S-Sir," Ashe could not mask the horror in her voice. The man was face down in his own gore; she feared he might drown within it. "I am going to raise your face, I shall try to cure you again," Ashe knew her words were hollow, but she could not leave this man without some hope.

As gently as she could, Ashe turned the man to face her . . .

. . . a scream tore through Ashe now.

It was a horrific scream.

A scream beyond the abilities of mortal words to describe.

It was a cry of heartbreak.

It was a cry of desperation.

And in this moment Ashe was certain that the hands of the gods had hurled her straight into hell.

**"**_**RASLER!**_**"**

Tears blurred her eyes, but Ashe dared not wipe at them – she would not pull her hands away from him _ever_ again. "Oh, my darling! What has happened to you?" Ashe cradled his head in her hands. Her tears poured upon his face in rhythm with the blood from his body. As her tears splashed against his skin they began clearing it of red. Rasler's expression was blank -- void of emotion as though he were already a corpse. The young lord stared at her as though aware of her presence, yet, unable to see her through the cloud of death upon him. "I do not know what evil has done this to you, my love, but I will not lose you twice!"

Rasler breathed in ragged gasps, each breath incomplete . . . shattered. Each attempt at exhaling seemed final; Ashe did not know how he had endured in this condition for so long.

Ashe did not know how to comfort him. She could not heal him, but she refused to lose him. She gently pressed her lips against Rasler's; despite the sting of blood, she savored the feel of him against her. It had been so long. . .

As she raised her face away, Ashe instantly knew that something was . . . different.

"O-Oh my!" Her lungs were now void of air -- within her arms was a completely different man!

There, with his bloody face in her lap, was Balthier.

Like Rasler, Balthier's eyes were vacant, unfocused . . . she could almost feel his life-force seeping away between her hands.

"Balthier! What has happened to you?" Ashe cried, clinging to him as though her grasp might force him to stay alive. She was not sure what happened to Rasler, but she was far too frantic over Balthier to contemplate what the blazes was going on!

"_HE DIES_!" The rasp came from behind her.

Ashe stiffened, protectively cradling Balthier's head in her lap. She did not need to turn around to know that the evil Occurian loomed at her back. She had come to recognize its haunting voice. A voice twisted like the shriek of a Wraith, but freakishly Hume in its pronunciation.

"You evil monster! What did you do to him?" Ashe screamed, revulsion blistering in her words.

"_Not I, child. You_." The Occurian stated very matter-of-factly.  
"No! I would never hurt him. I could not."

_"Behold. Look to your side."_

Hesitantly, Ashe did as it said: there was _Danjuro, _her sword. _Danjuro_ seemed to float just above the gory pond, and from its tip drizzled fresh blood. Deep burgundy blood. Balthier's blood.

"NO!" Ashe wailed. "WHY?"

The Occurian only purred with amusement.

"Balthier! Stay with me! Please, do _not_ die!" Ashe held him close, crying frantically into his ear.

But naught could be done for the dashing sky pirate . . . for he was now but a corpse.

0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Balthier nearly leapt clear out of his skivvies. "Highness!" he called, stumbling like a bumbling Seeq across the sand.

From within the tent the queen was seized by hysterics. She was wailing his name, sobbing and – judging by how the tent was collapsing around her – Balthier wagered she was doing a great deal of thrashing.

It was morning and Balthier had been busy preparing breakfast and tidying up his clothes. Basically these tasks added up to him setting out two drab ration bars and sewing the torn cuff of his blouse (a smart man always carried a needle and thread upon his person). Balthier had decided to let her highness sleep in, seeing as she had had a very rough night. He also needed some private time to mull over the events of last night. The queen had been wrought with grief. A grief so raw it had nearly overwhelmed him as he held her. The evil within her was breaking her before his eyes, shattering her within his arms, consuming her, and all the while he had been powerless to help her. The knowledge was disturbing. He _hated _seeing her in such misery. Esper or no Esper, Balthier vowed to make that Occurian dreadfully sorry. He had other things to think about as well, only his mulling had just been alarmingly interrupted.

Balthier scrambled into the tent just as it wholly collapsed around him. He blindly reached out until he felt Ashe's flailing arms. Grabbing her, Balthier pulled her gently toward him. He raised the tent fabric so that he could see her, her eyes were open and she seemed utterly perplexed.

"M'lady?"

"Balthier?" she stared at him as though seeing him for the first time.

"That would be my name," he smiled.

"Oh, Balthier," she suddenly seemed to relax, her body softening into a warm embrace around his neck. "Balthier," once more she breathed his name.

"My name is flattered to be upon your lips," he mused. He was relived that she was calming, but confused.

"And I shall speak your name again. For in this moment it is my air. _Balthier_."

Balthier smirked, amused. "Easy now, highness, _I am _supposed to be the charming one. I can not have you swooping in with words like that and thieving my title."

Ashe giggled. "I am just so relieved that you are alive."

Balthier pulled from her arms, tilting her chin up to look at him. "But of course I am alive. Whatever are you-"

Ashe cut him off, her eyes wide. "It was another dream. I-" she stiffened, suddenly averting his stare. "Forget I mentioned it."

Balthier huffed. "But, m'lady, perhaps speaking on the matter would help-"

"No!" her voice was frigid, stinging him like frostbite. "Never." Ashe shoved him away from her with rather rude force—in fact, Balthier nearly fell backward. "It is too dangerous for you to be close to me. Travel together we must, but we should be careful to keep a safe distance."

She scrambled past him and out of the tent. Balthier shook his head, trying to untangle himself from the fabric to follow her. Despite the fact that the tent clung to him like a spider web, in a moment he managed to shimmy free. Ashe was standing at the edge of the camp, her arms crossed defiantly.

"M'lady," Balthier approached her, not giving much of a damn about her _safe distance _mumbo-jumbo.

"I was out of line last night. I made myself look an emotional fool. Though I am grateful for your support, you must not give me anymore should I put on another such display."

"Why? I want to be here for you. I want to support you and comfort you in any way that I can."

Ashe sighed, meeting his gaze. "I can not trust myself around you. I can not trust myself not to harm you. And I can not trust myself not to . . ." a curious blush tainted her cheeks.

Balthier frowned. He had an idea of what she was beginning to say. And, quiet frankly, he was not sure that he could trust himself either should she cling to him in a bed like that again. Her actions last night had been . . .

Balthier scolded himself, trying to find the right words to explain what he was feeling to himself. He was attracted to Dalmasca's queen like he had never been to a woman before; he had been since day one. She was fiery, challenging, and intoxicatingly beautiful. But she was _still _Dalmasca's queen. And . . . she was his friend. She trusted him to protect her. There were but a handful of beings alive that Balthier could title as his friend. He would not jeopardize that for anything. His adventures these past few years had taught him that there were such things in existence more precious than glittering jewels . . . the woman before him was living proof. Balthier cared about her too much to take advantage of her. He respected her.

Balthier sighed. Perhaps she was right about this safe distance idea? He would have to be more mindful of his straying thoughts . . . and straying hands too for that matter. This jewel was forbidden.

And yet somehow that knowledge made the situation all the more unbearable.

"Very well," Balthier could not keep the jest from his tone. "From this day forth I shall keep at least ten paces between us."

Ashe was noticeably smothering a smirk. "Good, it tis for your own good you know."

"That is why I am doing it," he grinned.

Ashe nodded at him and then proceeded to take down the tent, which by this point was almost completely down anyway. Balthier suppressed a frown. He was not so sure that distance between them _was _for his good at all.


End file.
